Je vais bien
by PenguinPickle
Summary: Five times Aramis said he was fine when he wasn't, and one time he really thought he was fine.
1. Chapter 1

Aramis tore a piece off his shirt and used his teeth to tighten it around his right bicep. The six bandits that had attacked them were not skilled men but one managed to drive his dagger into his arm. The three inseparables had made quick work of them though and the fight was over in a few minutes. They had been walking back to their camp from taking a swim in the river when they were attacked. The river was quite a distance but they had not camped close so as to avoid being too exposed. He groaned at the realisation that they still had a fair amount of walking to do and hoped that, for now, the make-shift bandage would hold his bleeding at bay.

He looked around and spotted Porthos and Athos a few meters away, noticing with relief that both seemed unharmed. He started to make his way back to them on the gravel road. As he drew nearer, his eyes ran over them to check for any injuries or signs of discomfort. Porthos grinned at him as he approached but Athos eyed his arm and frowned.

"Did you get hurt?" He asked.

"No," Aramis replied, "it's just a cut. I'll bandage it properly when we get back to camp."

"Does it need stitching?" Porthos asked, his scarred brow crinkling as he eyed Aramis' arm himself.

"No," Aramis replied, "I'm sure the bleeding has already stopped."

"Very well," Athos said, "we best make our way back to camp. We have a long walk ahead and I want us to get back with plenty daylight remaining."

Aramis followed behind them as they began their long trek to their campsite. His arm was throbbing but he didn't complain; he was fine, he would take a closer look when they arrived.

If it weren't for the throbbing in his arm, Aramis would actually have enjoyed their walk far better. The spring sun was gentle and the birds were singing. Their camp was hidden amongst some high boulders, a spot they came across by accident when they wondered off the road. This was the reason they had left it unattended; it was far too difficult to find if one didn't already know to look there.

Aramis began to feel a little clammy and took a sip from his water skin. He sighed to himself; perhaps the sun was not as gentle as he thought. It wasn't long until he began to sweat. He squinted at his brothers' backs ahead of him. They were walking side by side, neither seemed to be finding the sun uncomfortable. Aramis frowned in annoyance, he always seemed to be more sensitive to weather and he didn't want to say anything or ask to walk amongst the trees. He wiped his forehead with the back of his arm and pondered what his brothers must think of him if he could not even stand to walk in the sun for a few minutes. He continued to watch them as they walked in front of him, they were walking strong and steady and he was barely keeping up. Why was he so weak? Why did he feel so weak after such a short fight?

He wiped his brow again and when he dropped his arm back he felt wetness along his side. He huffed in annoyance; he was sweating like Cardinal Richelieu in a brothel. Aramis smiled at his own stupid comparison and looked down at his side. His smile dropped. There was blood staining the entire side of his shirt and the whole sleeve by his inner arm. He looked up at his brothers as he realised his wound was far worse than he thought and was bleeding through his bandage. They continued walking; not realising what was going on behind them.

Aramis swallowed and continued to force his feet one in front of the other. He knew he should say something but what could they do for him here? What they needed was back at their camp. He followed them in silence and gripped his arm with his left hand, squeezing to apply pressure. It was not long until blood was dripping between his fingers. He swallowed hard again and began to get nervous. If he told them, they would stop immediately and they would waste precious time trying to help him. Aramis clenched his jaw tight; it would be safer to be distracted in their campsite, not out here in the woods on some strange path where they had just been attacked.

Aramis looked behind him; he was leaving spots of blood on the stones. His breathing was beginning to grow faster. He had to tell them. He didn't have a choice. He opened his mouth but no sound came out. His walking was slowing down and his brothers were slowly moving further away. He reached his arm up to grab the back of Porthos' shirt but his brother was far out of reach.

Dancing little black spots started to cloud his vision and his knees buckled, hitting the ground hard. He fell forward into the gravel road with a soft "hmmf" and his face hit the stones. The last thing he was aware of was the taste of sand in his mouth.

…

Porthos stared at the treetops above them, listening to the different birds. It was an odd thing; to be surrounded by such a peaceful sight after a fight.

"Any poetry you have to recite for us Aramis?" Porthos asked as he continued walking.

"Ah, Porthos," Athos said, "but there are no lovely women here for him to recite it to."

"I'd think you would be pretty enough Athos." Porthos said, halting in his tracks to dodge an elbow to the ribs from the brother beside him.

"Shut your mouth," Athos snapped, but the smile was evident in his voice as he continued walking.

"How about you, mon ami? No sarcastic remarks?" Porthos asked Aramis as he turned around.

Only Aramis was not walking behind him, he was lying on the ground a few feet away. Porthos felt the blood drain from his face.

"Aramis!" He yelled as he rushed to his brother's side, hearing Athos do the same just steps behind him.

"Aramis?" Porthos mumbled softly as he turned his brother over. His face was ghostly white and there were stones stuck to his cheek, "He's unconscious."

"What the?" He heard Athos ask and followed his gaze. Athos was holding Aramis' limp arm up, which was stained with blood.

As he ran his eyes over Aramis more closely, he saw that the wound on his arm had bled over the right side of his shirt as well. With a shaky hand, Porthos lifted his brother's shirt to make sure there were no other hidden injuries there.

"He said it was just a scratch…" Porthos said, disbelievingly. His heart was pounding so fast he could hear it.

"Fool," Athos said, "He should have said something."

Porthos grabbed his bandana and tied it around his brother's injury, his hands shaking slightly.

"We need to get him back to the camp." Athos said.

Porthos gently slid his arms beneath his brother and hoisted him up as easily as if he were lifting a small child. Athos helped adjust him so that his head was not hanging but rather resting on Porthos' shoulder.

"When he wakes up I'm going to kill him." Porthos mumbled angrily, holding his brother tighter in worry.

"Not unless I kill him first," Athos replied as they made their way back to their camp with renewed haste.

…

It was not long until they came upon their hidden spot, their horses happily tugging on grass, oblivious to the tension surrounding their masters. Athos immediately went to fetch a bedroll so that Porthos could lower Aramis down.

Porthos was reluctant to have him out of his arms. Guilt was chewing at him. How had they not known? How had he not noticed there was something wrong? He always prided himself on being an expert in all things concerning his brothers, but he had carried on walking while Aramis was lying on the ground behind him…

"Porthos?" Athos asked.

Porthos looked up from Aramis' face and into Athos' eyes.

"I didn't notice." Porthos said.

"We didn't notice, my friend." Athos said, his eyes moving to Aramis' face, "I don't know why he didn't say anything."

Porthos knelt down to gently lower Aramis onto his bedroll. They stripped the ruined shirt off their brother completely. The gash in his arm was deep; blood was still oozing from it after they removed Porthos' bandana and Athos tried to apply pressure with his palm.

"I'll get the stitching kit." Porthos said and went over to one of their saddle bags.

Porthos watched as Athos cleaned and stitched Aramis' wound as gently as he could. Their brother remained unconscious throughout the ordeal and Porthos wondered with great worry how much blood Aramis had lost.

"We need to get a fire going." Athos said as he wrapped a bandage around Aramis' arm, "Would you mind?"

Porthos didn't move, he kept his eyes on Aramis' pale face. All he wanted to do was hold him again. He felt a hand gently cup his cheek and looked up to Athos' bright blue eyes, always so full of determination.

"He's going to be fine." Athos said with a reassuring smile.

"I know," Porthos replied, "It's just… the way he was laying there…"

"I know. I was scared too." Athos said and moved his hand to his shoulder, giving a squeeze.

Porthos nodded and stood up to make a fire. The night would be on them soon and he had to walk a few meters from their camp to gather enough wood. When he got back, Athos was running his fingers through Aramis' hair and watching his face intently for even the slightest twitch.

Porthos smiled to himself. Athos was, contrary to what the majority of Paris thought, an incredibly gentle and caring person, especially when it came to his brothers.

He built the fire and they moved Aramis a little closer to keep him warm. Porthos sat down on Aramis' other side and watched as Athos began to cook the rabbit Aramis had caught earlier that morning.

…

Aramis took a deep breath in and exhaled slowly. The smell of food filled his nose and his stomach suddenly felt very empty. He felt a finger go over his brow and opened his eyes to Porthos looking down at him, a small grin on his face.

"I keep finding little stones on you, mostly in your hair," Porthos said, "Athos is cooking."

"Athos is cooking?" Aramis asked, "Oh dear."

"What exactly is that supposed to mean?" came Athos' voice from behind Porthos' bulk.

Aramis tried to look past his friend with a cheeky grin but as he wriggled, pain shot through his right arm. He groaned at the sudden reminder that he was injured. He looked up at Porthos and almost cringed. Porthos looked furious.

"You're going to eat," Porthos said, "then we're going to chat."

"I second that." came Athos' voice again.

Aramis swallowed nervously and looked at his arm. He cringed properly when he saw the neat bandage around it and his bloody shirt tossed to the side. He looked up at Porthos whose face may as well have been carved from stone. He allowed Porthos to gently help him sit up and the bigger man sat next to him quietly, shoulder to shoulder.

Athos walked to them with two bowls. When he handed one to Aramis he narrowed his eyes.

"Finish it." Athos said, and went to retrieve his own.

"I wouldn't disobey him if I were you," Porthos mumbled from beside him, "You had him playing with your hair, he was so worried."

Aramis felt his heart flutter nervously and began to eat his food with determination. Athos did not take kindly to anyone who made him worry about his brothers, especially if it was the people in question themselves. He did not notice Porthos' soft grin beside him.

As his bowl became emptier, he slowed down his eating to prolong the time until they had their 'chat'. Aramis was not unaware of Athos eyeing his every move.

"I've seen a tortoise move faster than that, Aramis. Just eat your damn food." Athos said.

Aramis rolled his eyes and finished his bowl.

"More?" Porthos asked.

When Aramis shook his head he took the bowl from him and placed it aside.

"Why didn't you tell us you were hurt so badly?" Athos asked, never a man to beat around the bush.

Aramis sighed, "I didn't know. I didn't… I didn't realise."

Porthos huffed beside him, "You didn't notice a steady stream of blood flowing down your body?"

"Don't exaggerate." Aramis said but stopped himself from saying more at the dangerous look Porthos shot at him.

"Aramis," Athos said, "You were lying on the ground, unconscious. Would you not want an explanation from one of us if the roles were reversed?"

Aramis' hand unconsciously moved to his bandage, Athos was right as usual.

"By the time I realised I was bleeding and not sweating, I was already feeling dizzy. I kept quiet because all our supplies were here, not there. What would you have been able to do there anyway?"

He didn't understand why he was met with silence. His eyes fell to a bloody bandana on the ground. Porthos' bandana… it had blood on it. Aramis leaped up and turned to face Porthos so quickly both his brothers startled in fright. He swayed on his feet and Porthos shot out both hands to grab him.

"Aramis sit down!" Athos ordered and grabbed Aramis' torso from behind to guide him back to his bedroll.

"No!" Aramis wriggled from Athos' gasp, "Porthos, you're hurt! Show me where."

"I'm not hurt, listen to Athos you idiot!" Porthos said, tugging him down to the ground.

"But your bandana!" Aramis whined as he let them force him back down, "It has blood on it."

"It's your blood, Aramis." Porthos explained. He grabbed the back of Aramis' neck once he was sitting still again, seeming to sense Aramis' dizziness. "I tied it around your arm before we headed back here."

"Oh," Aramis said, feeling embarrassed for his outburst and focused on the spots of colour that were finally starting to disappear from his vision, "I just got angry when I thought…"

"What?" Athos asked, "When you thought he had an injury he was not telling you about?"

Aramis blushed and suddenly became very interested in his fingernails.

"It's not the same." Aramis mumbled.

When he received no reply he looked up and the looks they were giving him were murderous enough to give children nightmares. He looked down again and bit his lip.

After a few moments of deafening silence, Porthos moved closer and placed a soft kiss on Aramis' forehead and ruffled his hair. Aramis smiled, realising his brothers' anger had simmered down.

"Your life is not even the slightest bit less valuable than ours, Aramis." Athos said softly, "I hope one day you will realise that."

Aramis didn't know quite what to say. Without thinking he flung himself at Athos and wrapped his arms around his neck, ignoring the searing pain in his arm. He felt Athos stiffen and heard Porthos chuckle behind him. Athos' face must have been quite the sight since he was never very keen on affection. Just as Aramis was about to pull away however, the older musketeer wrapped his arms around him.

"You're going to pull your stitches you idiot." Athos said into his hair.

Aramis smiled broadly, "were you really playing with my hair?"

"Hush," Athos replied, ignoring a second chuckle from Porthos.

…

Athos was not quite sure what to do with the musketeer in his arms. It had taken only a few short moments for Aramis to relax and fall asleep. He looked up to see Porthos smiling fondly at the two of them.

He cleared his throat, "Would you take him?"

Porthos' grin turned wicked, "Even if I wanted to separate you two, I would never be able to. He has a grip of steel that one, especially in his sleep."

Athos narrowed his eyes dangerously. He looked down at his sleeping brother and wriggled a little so that he could get more comfortable. True to Porthos' word, Aramis groaned and clung tighter. Athos leaned against the tree behind him and Porthos brought a blanket to them. He settled down on Athos' right and threw the blanket over all of them. Athos pushed Aramis' head lower to lean against his chest and felt that he was rather comfortable. Aramis was not heavy and he provided some warmth. Athos felt Porthos pat Aramis' hair down and out of his face. He looked up to smile at his brother.

"I'm watching him like a hawk." Porthos said, his face serious but his eyes gentle.

"You and me both, brother." Athos replied.

They said not much after that. They fell asleep gazing at the stars and listening to the music of the owls and insects, accompanied by the pleasant sound of their brother's soft snoring.


	2. Chapter 2

Aramis watched the carriage grow smaller and smaller as it retreated down the road. Porthos was in there, and he probably wasn't coming back. He had said he would write but Aramis knew exactly what people meant when they said that. He knew what was going to happen. Porthos would indeed write, but the letters would grow fewer and shorter, and over time they would cease.

Aramis breathed in deeply, resisting the urge to run after the carriage like a child. He could feel tears running down his cheeks. Porthos had hugged him goodbye and ruffled his hair, then he had taken her beautiful silk-covered arm and turned away. Porthos was on his way to a new life and Aramis could not hate him for it, not even a little bit. He was a fool to think they would be 'the inseparables' forever.

…

Aramis woke to the sound of a bird tapping his window with its beak. He blinked as his eyes adjusted to the morning light and wiped his face with the palm of his hand. He groaned when he realised he had real tears running down his cheeks from his dream. He got up and started to get ready for the day; combing his hair and wriggling into his uniform. He took a deep, steadying breath before he opened his door to the sounds of the new morning.

By the time Aramis made it to their usual table for breakfast, Porthos and Athos were chatting away, as if it were a normal day, as if Porthos had not almost left them. Aramis watched them without really listening. They both deserved all the happiness in the world. He couldn't really understand why Porthos had not left with Alice, if he was honest. She was lovely; they were perfect for each other. He tried to imagine what Porthos' life would have been like with her. Aramis smiled as images of Porthos surrounded by all his children filled his mind. He imagined Porthos would be a wonderful father; tucking his children into bed, telling them stories of their adventures, telling them how he had met their mother, Alice… Alice…

Aramis swallowed, something in his gut told him this was not right, Porthos should not be here. He continued to watch his brothers as they teased each other. Porthos caught his eye and smiled, then turned away to continue his conversation with Athos. Aramis looked down and mumbled a quiet thanks to Serge after he placed a bowl of oats in front of him. He picked up his spoon and placed it down again, suddenly feeling sick as it dawned on him why Porthos had stayed.

Aramis' breath hitched slightly as he realised how selfish he was. Porthos had stayed to keep him happy, to make sure he stayed out of trouble. _Who'd look after you?_ The words Porthos had spoken flittered through his mind. He had seemed like he was joking but what if he wasn't? Had Aramis truly made Porthos believe that he couldn't take care of himself? Had he guilt-tripped Porthos into staying by making him think Aramis needed him, relied on him? Yet, that was the truth was it not? Aramis did need him… Porthos was a good man, the most selfless man Aramis had ever known. And Aramis had manipulated him into staying, had taken away that beautiful future he had imagined for Porthos. What was wrong with him? How could he have been so selfish?

"Aramis?" came Porthos' voice, "What's the matter?"

Aramis looked up and was met with kind, worried eyes. He swallowed again. He did not deserve this; he did not deserve Porthos' friendship after what he had taken from him.

"Nothing," Aramis said, "nothing at all."

Porthos frowned, clearly unconvinced. Before he could say anything however, Treville came to give them orders for the day. Athos had to escort the King somewhere in the city and Aramis and Porthos were on patrol together.

…

They had been walking together in silence for a while, watching the activities of the people around them. He knew it was bad, but Aramis' mind was only half focused on his duty. The other half was being chewed up by guilt. What if Porthos were to get hurt? What if Aramis could not protect him? It would be all his fault because he did not want Porthos to leave. Porthos could have been safe living in a quiet village with Alice at his side, a beautiful family with a beautiful future ahead of them.

Porthos elbowed his ribs softly, "Hey, you've been very quiet today."

Aramis looked up to see him smiling softly, "I have?"

"Yes, you have. I everything okay?"

"Everything's fine." Aramis said with a smile and walked a little ahead.

Their patrol was only for a few hours and he wanted to get it over with. Normally he would have been excited at the prospect of having half the day off but for now he just wanted to hide away from everything and everyone. When Porthos caught up to him, he didn't say anything.

They continued their patrol in silence and the time seemed to go by quite fast. When it was time to make their way back, Aramis suddenly had an apple dangling in front of his face.

"I brought this with me," Porthos said, smiling at him, "You didn't eat your breakfast this morning, you must be hungry."

Aramis looked at him and then at the apple. How could Porthos care about his wellbeing after what he had done? Porthos held the apple closer to him encouragingly and Aramis bolted.

…

Porthos watched as Aramis half ran back down the road in between the people from the market, his arm still stretched out, holding the apple. To say he was confused would be an understatement. He knew something was wrong, Aramis had been far too quiet and he had that look on his face when he was overthinking everything. Porthos ran through his memories of the previous few days to try and come up with something that would have upset his brother so, but could not think of a single thing.

As he watched Aramis disappear into the crowd, he realised he was standing there holding an apple out like an idiot. He began to walk quickly back to the garrison where he hoped Aramis was going, handing the apple to a beggar on the way.

By the time he made it to Aramis' room he was not surprised to find it empty. Aramis had a way of disappearing when he was upset about something. The only way to find his brother when he was like this would be to turn Paris upside down and give it a good shake. He set to making a fire in his own room and took out a book that Aramis had loaned him. He knew Aramis would come find him when he was ready to talk, just like he always did. It didn't stop him from worrying though, and he found himself reading the same lines over and over; his mind too occupied with the look on Aramis' face when he had offered him the apple.

…

Aramis walked through the streets of Paris for a while before returning to the garrison. He knew he had probably worried his brother quite a bit by running off the way he had. Porthos deserved an explanation and Aramis only hoped he would be able to give him one. As he walked he thought of the entire situation and tears threatened to surface. He knew that at some point Porthos would find someone other than Alice; he would fall in love and start a new life. Aramis would never begrudge him that, but the prospect of Porthos not being in his life was too frightening to consider. Had both Porthos and Athos known all along that they could not be the three inseparables forever? Had he been ignorant this whole time?

Aramis walked into the garrison with his head bowed down. When he walked past Athos and Treville having a deep conversation, he saw Athos do a double take after glancing in his direction.

"Aramis?" He heard Athos ask but continued to walk right past themn not trusting his current state enough to give Athos a reassuring response.

He made his way up the steps and halted in front of Porthos' room. Just as he was about raise his fist and knock, the door swung open and Porthos emerged from inside, looking surprised.

"Aramis!" He said, "I was just about to come looking for you."

"You were?" Aramis asked, "I wasn't gone long was I?"

Porthos looked down awkwardly, "No, but I was worried."

Aramis flinched. This was what they needed to talk about. Before he could say anything, however, Porthos looked at him and smiled.

"You know," Porthos said, "I didn't know you hated apples so much. You didn't have to run away, I wouldn't have forced you to eat it."

Aramis felt a smile tug at his lips and for a moment he almost forgot his sadness.

"You want to come inside?" Porthos asked.

Aramis nodded and stepped into the warm room. He took one of the chairs by the fireplace and gave a long, deep sigh. Porthos sat opposite him and looked at him expectantly for a long moment before he said anything.

"Are you going to tell me what that was all about, mon ami?" His voice was calm and steady.

Aramis looked at his face; the kind features it held, the scar over his eye that made him look like a pirate and the concern in his eyes. He looked down at his hands, not sure where to begin, causing it all to tumble out in a string of nonsense, "I… you… you feel responsible for me… and she… she was lovely… and you were supposed to have a lot of children… and now you're here… and you're going to get hurt and it's all my fault!"

When Aramis looked up, Porthos was staring at him with a raised brow, "Aramis, what are you talking about?"

"I…" Aramis tried again, but this time all the emotions that had built up that day suddenly became too much and he buried his face in his hands, his breath hitching.

…

Porthos watched as his brother seemed to cave in on himself and his heart broke. He tried to make sense of Aramis' ramblings but couldn't understand what Aramis was talking about.

"Mon ami," He said softly, not wanting to make Aramis feel pressured, "I don't understand. What am I missing here?"

Porthos waited for a response and grew more concerned as Aramis remained quiet. He saw a single tear run down Aramis' arm and reached out to place a hand on his knee. Aramis hardly ever cried. Porthos was getting nervous. He stood up and slowly knelt in front of his brother. Gently, he pulled Aramis' hands away from his face to expose red eyes and tear-tracks.

"Please Réne," He whispered, "tell me what is wrong; tell me what I can do."

Aramis shook his head and closed his eyes.

"Come on," Porthos begged, "just take it slow, start at the beginning."

He watched as Aramis struggled and had to resist the strong urge to just hold him. They had to deal with this.

"Please, Aramis," Porthos said, "Whatever this is, it has been eating at you the whole day. Let me help. Did someone hurt you? Did something happen?"

Aramis gave a small smile and finally looked him in the eye.

"I had a dream," Aramis whispered, "It was about you and Alice. In the dream you left with her, you didn't stay."

Porthos frowned, trying to make sense of all of this, "Alice? Is this about her?"

Aramis ran a shaking hand through his hair, "Yes and no. Porthos, in my dream you were happy. When I woke up I realised that it wasn't real, that you had stayed, and you said you wouldn't leave because you had to take care of me."

"I'm still a bit lost, my friend." Porthos said gently with a small smile.

Aramis seemed to be frustrated with himself and Porthos grabbed one of his hands and gave it a soft squeeze of encouragement.

"You should have gone with her," Aramis whispered so softly, Porthos had to strain his ears to hear him, "she was wonderful and she would have made you happy. You would have been surrounded by your dozens of children. You would have died an old man; happy and care free. But you stayed because you feel like you owe it to me… because you feel responsible for my wellbeing even though I can take care of myself, though I know it doesn't always seem that way. Now, you will die in some stupid battle, unhappy and too young. And that's all my fault. I denied you your happiness, Porthos. I'm so sorry."

Porthos' grip on Aramis' hand tightened as he explained himself. The words were like a lead weight in his stomach. Aramis had it all wrong and blamed himself for something he couldn't possibly have changed, as was his character of course. Porthos felt warmth blossom in his chest at the realisation that Aramis only wanted him to be happy.

"Aramis," Porthos said, letting go of Aramis' hand to grab the sides of his face, "Yes, Alice is a lovely woman and she made me happy. But I knew, even before she offered for me to go with her, that she would never be able to make me as happy as my brothers do. I would never give up this life because you and Athos are a part of it. Hell, if you two decided to become potato farmers I would follow you. I would follow you anywhere and I know that you would do that for me. And do you really think that if I were to marry her, or anyone else, that you would cease being a part of my life? Do you truly think that you and Athos would not be the godfathers of my - how did you put it? – dozens of children? You two will always be a big part of my life, brother, you must know that?"

Aramis looked at him and seemed to regain some colour in his face. Porthos let go and sat on the floor, leaning back against the wall next to the fireplace. As he went down, he grabbed Aramis' arms and pulled him with him. Aramis ended up almost entirely on his lap and gave a small huff of surprise. He wrapped his arms around his smaller friend and squeezed slightly, pulling Aramis to rest his head on his chest .

As Aramis seemed to relax, Porthos ran a hand over his hair, "You could never deny me happiness, Aramis. That would be impossible because you make me happy already. I mean, of course we might end up being fathers and old men but we also might end up dying in battle. It doesn't matter though, because we would be doing it side-by-side. And I know you can take care of yourself you dolt. That doesn't mean I don't worry, and it doesn't mean you don't need anyone to take care of you either."

"I was so afraid," Aramis whispered, "that you would leave. I feel rather stupid now."

Porthos huffed, "I would never leave you Aramis, and you will always be a part of my life, like I said."

They stayed next to the fire in silence and Porthos only hoped he had gotten through to his friend.

"Porthos?" Aramis asked.

"Yeah?" Porthos replied.

"Thank you for bringing me an apple."

"You're welcome."

Porthos smiled.

…

Aramis was startled from his almost sleep-like state with a knock on Porthos' door.

"Who is it?" He heard Porthos' voice from just above his head and felt the bigger man instinctively tighten his hold around him.

"It's me," came Athos' voice and he opened the door without waiting for a reply.

Athos had three bowls in his hand and when his eyes fell on them sitting on the floor he raised an eyebrow.

"Something wrong with your chairs, Porthos?" He asked, grinning.

"Aramis and I figured the floor would be far more comfortable." Porthos replied, "Is that dinner?"

"Indeed it is," Athos said.

He sat down opposite them on the floor. Aramis wriggled off Porthos' lap and sat beside him. He didn't realise how hungry he was and tucked into his food enthusiastically. They ate in silence until Athos obviously couldn't take it anymore.

"Is everything alright?" He asked, "You seemed upset earlier, Aramis."

"Everything's fine." Aramis said and smiled at his brother.

"Need I be concerned?" Athos asked as he lifted another spoon to his mouth.

"No," Aramis replied, the same time as Porthos said, "Yes."

Athos raised a brow and looked between the two of them.

"Aramis keeps blaming himself for things he really ought not to." Porthos explained.

"Tell me something I don't know," Athos replied with a soft smile as Aramis rolled his eyes.

"Do you have any intention of becoming a potato farmer, Athos?" Porthos asked and Aramis giggled.

"Potatoes? No, I never liked them much. Why? Is potato farming to be our new adventure in life?" Athos asked, as dry as ever.

Porthos elbowed Aramis' ribs for the second time that day, "You see, Aramis? He said 'our.'"

Aramis smiled, "Alright, I see now."

"What am I missing?" Athos asked.

Aramis did not miss the way Athos' eyes ran over the obvious tear-tracks on his face.

"Aramis didn't know that we will always remain brothers, even if our ventures take us beyond being musketeers, our place is by each other's sides." Porthos stated matter-of-factly.

"I see," Athos said.

Aramis watched as he placed his empty bowl aside and took Aramis' from his lap to set it aside too. He then moved to sit on Aramis' other side and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

"And where, may I ask, does potato farming come into this?"

Porthos chuckled, "I was using it as an analogy."

"Really Porthos," Athos complained, "Of all the analogies you could have used, you went with potatoes?"

Aramis laughed at their antics and finally allowed himself to relax completely, safe with the knowledge that his brothers would always be by his side. He felt Athos squeeze his shoulders and Porthos' hand came up to ruffle his hair.

He placed a kiss to Aramis' forehead and said, "You know, a farm is actually a wonderful place to raise three families."

This chapter was inspired by this prompt on the kink meme:

After the end of 1x08 Aramis has a nightmare that Porthos indeed HAD married Alice and left the regiment. He goes to Porthos' room just to check on him, and Porthos couldn't sleep either thinking about everything. Aramis feels both relieved that it was just a dream and embarrassed that he's so relieved when his friend had lost the woman he loved. Some talking and some cuddling happen.


	3. Chapter 3

Aramis didn't bother going to his room after he put his horse in the stable. The sun had just risen and musketeers were slowly starting to make their way to the tables and wait for breakfast. He had thought it wise at the time to ride back through the night but the thick snow had made his journey longer than anticipated and he ended up traveling all through the previous day and night. A massive yawn escaped him and he sleepily gave his horse some hay. He rubbed his eyes, trying to will the tiredness away.

There were a few musketeers with the king on a hunting trip at the moment; this was why he didn't go to bed. He knew there was a need for some extra hands since the trip would take a few days and didn't want to burden anyone more than necessary by sleeping through the day. He splashed his face with some icy water from his horse's drinking bucket in an attempt to startle himself into alertness. Unfortunately, all he managed to do was irritate himself as he realised he had forgotten to remove his gloves first. He peeled the wet leather off his hands in frustration and made it outside the stable to get orders for the day.

The Cardinal, it seemed, was in need of a favour that apparently was too unimportant a task to be carried out by his Red Guard. However, as Treville had put it, he did feel it necessary that it was a task to be carried out by musketeers as they were more 'expendable'. It was a simple task really; they needed to drop off a gift to a friend of the Cardinals who stayed in a rather large house in a nearby village. Unfortunately for Aramis though, it meant spending another day traveling on horseback.

As soon as Treville dismissed the three of them, his brothers turned to him.

"We weren't expecting you back until tomorrow." Athos said.

"Yes," Aramis replied, "The trip was long but I actually arrived at the farm far quicker than expected."

"I don't like this idea of musketeers being sent on missions alone, especially to collect the King's debts." Porthos said, a hint of protectiveness evident in his voice.

Aramis shrugged, "I suppose there are a lot of musketeers hunting with the King, Treville couldn't spare all three of us."

Porthos didn't look pleased, "Yet we are all three going to deliver a gift to some arrogant bastard?"

"Porthos, be careful." Athos said, "Treville is sending all three of us because it is what the Cardinal wished. Besides, Aramis wasn't supposed to be joining us; Treville was also expecting him tomorrow."

A part of Aramis wished he had in fact stopped to rest for the night as he yawned again.

"The Cardinal is far too used to getting what he wants." Porthos said with a grumble in his voice. His eyes fell on Aramis and he surveyed his features, "You look exhausted, mon ami."

Aramis shrugged again, "I'm fine."

Porthos raised a brow and Athos tilted his head, "Are you sure?" He asked, "Porthos is right, you look like… well you look like shit."

"How eloquent of you, Athos." Aramis said, forcing a smile, "Truly, I'm alright. Let's get this over and done with."

…

Treville had given Aramis permission to use his mare, so as not to over-tax his own horse by riding out so soon again. She was a lovely animal, black as night, obedient and intelligent. Aramis patted her neck as they rode out and he tried not to think too much of the pain in his thighs from riding so soon again. His brothers had tried several times to include him into their conversation but Aramis' responses were short and uninterested. He felt guilty but couldn't help being irritated at virtually everything the day brought. Even the lovely countryside, which he normally fell in love with every time, did little to change his mood.

"What's the matter with you?" Porthos asked as he looked over his shoulder, "You've been acting like you were turned down by a beautiful woman or something."

Aramis glared at his smiling face from under the brim of his hat, "You know," He said as he swatted a fly away, "I do a hell of a lot more than seduce women all day."

Porthos' smile softened into a grin, "I know that you fool. Why are you so grumpy?"

"I'm not gru-"

"Yes," Athos cut in without turning to look at him, "You are."

"You better believe it now," Porthos said, "If Athos says you're grumpy it can only be true. He's the king of grumpiness."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Athos asked, finally turning around to glare at Porthos.

Porthos put his hands up defensively, "Nothing of course."

He looked over his shoulder again to give Aramis a wink.

"Whatever," Aramis said, "the sooner we get this done with the better."

"I thought you enjoyed the scenery?" Porthos asked him.

Aramis looked to his right at the endless fields of green. He spotted a man standing in the distance; he was just staring at them as they rode past. The man never once took his eyes off Aramis, it was quite unsettling. Aramis strained his eyes to get a better look.

His stomach clenched, the man looked suspiciously like, "Marsac?" he whispered.

He blinked and the man was gone.

"What?" Porthos asked, turning to look at Aramis again.

"N-nothing," Aramis said, his heart pounding uncomfortably fast.

Porthos' brows furrowed but he said nothing more as he turned around to face forward again.

Aramis looked back to where he had seen Marsac standing and swallowed thickly. He rubbed his eyes hard and reminded himself that the man was gone. When he removed his hand from his eyes, Marsac was standing right in front of his horse. He gasped in fright and pulled on the reins. The mare whinnied loudly and sidestepped in frustration.

"Aramis?" Porthos asked, he and Athos had brought their horses to a stop and were watching him, "What is going on?"

Aramis' heart threatened to leap from his chest as he shook his head quickly.

"Nothing… I just got startled."

"By what?" Athos asked, looking around the peaceful emptiness that surrounded them for any threat he had not seen.

"Just… a shadow, a trick of the light." Aramis answered, gripping the reins tightly to hide his shaking hands.

Athos and Porthos stared at him for a moment before looking at each other.

"You look like you've seen a ghost." Porthos said, "You're as white as a sheet."

Aramis shook his head, "I'm fine, it was nothing."

After a moment of silence, Athos turned to face forward in his saddle again, "let's deliver this stupid gift and get back home."

Aramis did not miss how Porthos waited for him to start moving before he did himself, forcing their hoses to walk side-by-side. He could not help but be twitchy; glaring and flinching at every movement in the corners of his eyes. He was sure Porthos noticed but the man had kept quiet about it. By the time they made it to the mansion, Aramis felt about as stable as a tower of pebbles and stood back with the horses while Athos and Porthos delivered the neatly wrapped package to a heavily moustached, plump man.

Every now and then, as the wind picked up, Aramis thought he could hear Marsac's voice calling his name. Every time he would turn to the direction from where it came, terrified he would see the man. When he heard it again, he whipped around and slammed straight into Porthos.

Porthos grabbed him by his shoulders and held him at arm's length, "Aramis, what the hell is going on with you?"

Aramis looked at the worry lines carved in his brother's face and sagged a little, looking down at the ground. Porthos tightened his grip as Aramis ran a hand though his hair.

"I'm just tired," he mumbled.

"When last have you slept?" came Athos' voice, causing Aramis to jump a little as he had not noticed his brother come close. Athos raised a brow and frowned at him.

"The night before last." Aramis admitted.

"What?" Porthos asked, "Why?"

"I rode through the night," Aramis explained, "I knew we were less a few musketeers and I didn't want the burden of one less musketeer to fall on anyone else. I thought I was doing the right thing at the time."

"You're a fool," Athos said, though his voice was thick with worry, "as soon as we're back you are going to bed, no arguments."

Aramis nodded and looked up at Porthos, who was staring at him oddly. Aramis could hear Athos take the horses to get some water behind him and Porthos lowered his head to whisper.

"What aren't you telling me?" He asked softly, "There's something more going on, I can see it in your eyes."

"I…," Aramis said, the exhaustion that had taken hold of his body suddenly far too much to bear, "I've been hallucinating."

"What have you been seeing?" Porthos asked, rubbing his hands up and down Aramis' arms, "or should I ask: who?"

"M-Marsac," Aramis swallowed, "I saw Marsac."

Porthos squeezed his arms and pulled Aramis toward him for a hug. It took all of Aramis' will to not go completely boneless in his arms as Porthos squeezed him tightly.

"It will go away after you get some decent rest." Porthos said into his hair.

"I know," Aramis mumbled, trying very hard not to close his eyes for fear that he would fall asleep standing, "It's just very… unnerving."

"I'm sure it is, brother." Porthos held him at arm's length again, looking him in the eye, "come, let's get out of here."

…

Aramis and Porthos rode back side-by-side behind Athos. Aramis did not fail to notice how Porthos kept glancing at him and he tried to act as sane as possible. He was beginning to get a terrible headache from it all and his eyelids were feeling heavier and heavier by the second.

"Aramis?" Porthos whispered, "If you see him again, just grab my arm alright?"

Aramis smiled at how kind his brother was, "You don't think I'm insane?"

Porthos grinned and shrugged, "We've dealt with insane people, you are not one of them."

"Not yet," Aramis replied.

Porthos' face grew serious, "You've not lost your mind Aramis, believe me. You're just -"

"Damaged?" Aramis interrupted.

Porthos shook his head, "Scarred. Life has left you a little scarred."

Before Aramis could reply, he heard Marsac whisper his name again. Without even the slightest hesitation, he grabbed Porthos' right arm with his left hand. Porthos' reaction was instantaneous; he took Aramis' hand in his and squeezed, his firm grip a perfect anchor to the present.

"You can see him?" Porthos asked, his voice low.

Aramis shook his head and let go of the reins to rub his eyes, "No I heard him. He called my name."

Porthos nodded and squeezed his hand again, not saying anything. Aramis knew he did not know what to say, but he greatly appreciated the physical help Porthos was able to give. After a few minutes, Aramis' heartbeat slowed to a normal pace and he let go of Porthos' hand in favour of gripping the reins more securely.

He neither heard not saw Marsac after that, his mind probably too tired to summon any more cruel visions. His eyelids began to droop and he could tell he was going to fall asleep soon. Before he could shamefully admit that he could go on no longer, his chin hit his chest and he was blissfully asleep.

…

It seemed as if his sudden sleep only lasted a second before he woke again with a sharp pain at the back of his head. He groaned loudly and his hand automatically went to touch the sore spot but a hand wrapped around his wrist to stop it.

"Aramis!" He heard Athos' voice, "open your eyes, damn it!"

Aramis forced his eyes open and was staring up at his two brothers, who were bending over him. He was on the ground.

"Why am I on the ground?" He asked.

Porthos, whose face had lost a little colour, only stared at him. Aramis realised then that Porthos was gripping his upper arm.

"You fell asleep on your horse and fell off it." Athos said bluntly, "Don't move. Where are you in pain?"

Aramis could feel a blush creep up his neck in embarrassment, "My head."

They sat him up and Athos began to examine the back of Aramis' head. Aramis looked up at Porthos who looked like he was about to burst into tears. He assumed he was hallucinating again as he could count on one hand the amount of times he'd seen Porthos cry.

"I'm so sorry, brother," Porthos whispered, "I tried to catch you but you slipped out of my grasp so quickly."

Aramis' stomach twisted at the guilt written all over Porthos' face.

"Porthos," Aramis said, "This is in no way your fault. I should have said something."

"Yes," Athos said from behind him while he poked and prodded Aramis' head, "You should have."

Porthos shook his head slowly looking at the ground, "I should have been watching you, 's my job."

Aramis cupped his cheek and smiled, "Don't be silly, this is all on me, my own stupidity."

"Here here," Athos mumbled.

Aramis rolled his eyes and Porthos finally smiled.

"Your head is fine," Athos said and stood up, "No stitches required. Though I don't think you should be riding a horse in your state."

"But we're only an hour away," Aramis complained, "I can last an hour."

He was met with silence and two stony expressions which warned the dangers of argument. Porthos placed his hands under Aramis arms and lifted him up without even the slightest grunt of effort. Once Aramis was on his feet he swayed quite a bit and two pairs of hands shot out to steady him.

"You ride with me," Porthos said and guided him to his horse. Aramis didn't dare argue.

As soon as Porthos climbed on his horse behind him, Aramis relaxed. Before taking the reins, Porthos placed a hand on his chest and pulled him to lean back.

"Sleep," Porthos said and Aramis did.

…

Athos watched how Porthos wrapped an arm around Aramis who had fallen asleep within seconds and smiled to himself. It was always a wonderful thing to behold; how their little family took care of each other. He did not miss the worry lines etched into Porthos' face, however.

"He's fine," Athos said, "The fall was not that bad."

Porthos looked at him and his face relaxed, "I know, it just sacred me you know?"

"I know," Athos said, "Me too."

Porthos nodded and let go of the reins to pat Aramis' hair. Though Athos did not think it possible, Aramis visibly relaxed even more and gave a sigh of happiness.

He chuckled, "You two are adorable."

Porthos' lips stretched into a devilish grin, "Say that again."

"No," Athos said, "I never repeat myself."

Porthos chuckled and continued petting Aramis as if he were a cat.

"Hmm…" Athos sighed out in amusement.

"What?" Porthos asked, clearly hoping Athos would say something very uncharacteristically like himself again.

"Nothing," Athos said, "I was just thinking he must have been a cat in his past life."

"How so?"

"Well, he loves to be in the sun. He loves affection and grooming and… he always finds his way home." Athos' own words suddenly reminded him of Aramis coming back to them after the Savoy massacre that had haunted them all since.

Porthos' mind, it seemed, had gone there too, "Yes he does."

It was a little while later when Porthos spoke up again, "And he loves treats!"

…

Aramis was still exhausted when he was woken by the sounds of the city around him. He sat up with a jolt and bumped the top of his head into Porthos' chin.

"A little warning next time, please Aramis!" Porthos complained and rubbed his chin with his palm.

"Porthos!" Aramis yelled, "were you actually going to ride all the way to the garrison with me like this? I have a reputation you know."

Athos huffed, "A reputation we all know far too much about."

Aramis threw him a glare but the man only smiled in return.

"Well?" Aramis asked.

Porthos laughed, "Either we ride into the garrison like this or I carry you there like a damsel for all of Paris to see."

"Yes," Athos butted in, "We'll make a parade out of it."

Aramis crossed his arms and groaned, "I'm tired, not injured."

"You are deprived of sleep," Porthos corrected him, "You cannot be left with guiding a horse and leaving a path of destruction behind you."

Aramis rubbed his face in frustration but did not bother arguing. No one, it seemed was paying much attention to them anyway as the sun was setting and the markets were all packed up. Even the garrison was quiet when they arrived and Aramis was sent straight to his room, followed by Porthos who was watching him like a hawk.

Porthos pulled his sheets back as Aramis removed his uniform. When Aramis climbed in and Porthos lifted the sheets up, Aramis grabbed his arm, "Stay?"

Porthos smiled gently, "I was going to anyway."

As soon as Porthos was settled beside him and his head was on the pillow, Aramis rested his head on his chest and Porthos' arms automatically wrapped around him. He was asleep by the third blink of his eyes.

When he opened his eyes again, he could hear Porthos snoring and Athos was sitting beside the bed reading one of Aramis' poetry books. Without even moving his eyes from the pages, Athos smiled.

"Go back to sleep, Aramis." He said.

Aramis sighed in bliss and closed his eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

The three inseparables made their way back to the garrison just as the sun was setting. They walked with the sort of boredom that accompanies a soldier when he is tasked with patrol all day. Aramis kicked a stone in frustration as they entered through the gates, it had been an exceptionally uneventful week. Some dust made its way up to his face and into his nose, causing a powerful sneeze to escape him.

Both Athos and Porthos halted and turned around to stare at him.

"What?" Aramis asked, turning around to see if there was something he had missed.

"Are you getting sick?" Porthos asked, his eyes narrowed and surveyed Aramis as a mother would a naughty child.

"Of course not," Aramis replied defensively.

Athos raised an eyebrow, "You sneezed. And your eyes look a little red."

"And your cheeks are flushed," Porthos added.

Aramis looked down, suddenly self-conscious, "It's from the dust… I'm fine."

When they continued to stare at him in silence, Aramis decided it was time to deviate their attention to something more important, "Should we eat?"

His brothers looked at each other and then back at him, unconvinced.

"You two don't exactly look wonderful yourselves, you know." Aramis said, not liking the scrutiny he was under.

Athos shrugged, "Yes I suppose it has been a long day, let's eat."

They sat in their usual spot and when Serge brought them each large bowls of stew they tucked in, the long day forgotten and behind them. Aramis didn't mention the headache he was developing, nor did he mention the fact that his nose was feeling blocked up. He also failed to mention the fact that he was feeling rather warm and uncomfortable in his uniform. He groaned inwardly when he realised he was actually getting sick.

"Well gents," Porthos said, standing up after he had finished eating, "I have an urgent meeting with a deck of cards, you know where to find me."

Aramis watched as he walked back out of the garrison to, he assumed, their usual tavern.

"You're not going?" Aramis asked Athos who was sitting beside him.

"No," Athos said, standing and placing his hat back on his head, "I myself have an appointment with a lovely bottle of wine and my bed."

He gave Aramis a quick smile and walked to his room. Aramis watched him go and thought he better go to bed himself. Sleep was, after all, the best treatment for the common cold.

…

It did not matter that Aramis was lying quite snuggly under his blankets because sleep refused to claim him. He stared at the ceiling for a while, trying to will his body to rest. Eventually he attempted to read for a bit but his mind could not concentrate between his constant sniffing and the steady growing fogginess that was occupying it.

He knew he was beginning to develop a fever because he was cold the one moment and then uncomfortably hot the next. He placed his book down and rested his head back on his pillow once he started to become lightheaded. Rubbing his sweaty forehead with the back of his sleeve, he let out a huff of air through his nose which resulted in another forceful sneeze. He sniffed in frustration and allowed his groggy mind to summon up obscure thoughts and dreams in a half-asleep state.

When eventually the room became too hot and the walls felt like they were too close, Aramis caved and knew he had to go to the one place that would make him feel better. He had to go to Porthos' room. Porthos was sure to be back from the tavern and Aramis knew that even after a few 'I knew it's and 'I told you so's he would make Aramis some herbal tea and would talk to Aramis until he fell asleep in the safety of his bed.

By Aramis' standard, it took him far too long to get out of bed and drape his blankets over his shoulders (for he was suddenly feeling very cold) and make it to the door of his room. He stared at the door handle for a while wondering if he actually could make it all the five steps to Porthos' room before he found the courage to turn it.

As he stepped outside he was greeted by an icy breeze, which he found to be both pleasant and annoying and walked the short steps to his destination. It certainly felt like it took longer to get there than usual but he blamed that on the clouds in his head from his fever. With all the strength of a new-born calf, he raised his fist and knocked on the door.

…

Athos swung his door open in annoyance. Who would be calling on him so late at night? His question was answered when he was met with Aramis' pale face and half-lidded eyes. Before he said anything, he let his eyes roam over his brother, from the hair sticking to his forehead, to the five or six blankets draped over his shoulders, to the mismatched stockings on his feet.

"Aramis?" Athos asked, surprised.

"Athos?" Aramis slurred, "Why are you in Porthos' room? Are you also feeling sick?"

Aramis immediately raised a hand to Athos' forehead to, Athos assumed, feel for fever. Only it wasn't Athos with a fever, it was Aramis. Athos could tell that through the warmth of the younger man's fingers.

Athos shook his head, removing Aramis' hand from it, "I'm not sick, Aramis. And this is my room, not Porthos'."

Aramis seemed suddenly very confused and looked over his shoulders, right and left, in a sad attempt at getting his bearings. It was a rather amusing sight.

"I'm sorry," Aramis mumbled, "Never mind."

Just as he made to move away, Athos grabbed his shoulder and dragged him inside, blankets and all.

"It's alright, Aramis. You can stay here. I doubt Porthos is back anyway." He said, closing the door behind him.

He watched as Aramis ran his fingers through his hair, successfully dropping his blankets to the floor in the process. Before Aramis could bend down to retrieve them, Athos grabbed him by the arm.

"Leave it," Athos said, "Go sit down on the bed, I'll bring them."

Aramis made it about halfway to the bed before he swayed and Athos grabbed him, leading him slowly the rest of the way.

"You're very warm," He said, more to himself than his brother, "I thought you said you weren't sick?"

As Aramis sat down, he looked up guiltily and gave a small grin.

Athos raised a brow, "I'm sorry is that smile supposed to make me lose my senses? Is this when I grow weak in the knees? Your charms may work on the majority of Paris mon ami, but I know a trouble-maker when I see one. When did you know you were sick?"

Aramis groaned and looked down, "When we were having dinner."

Athos resisted the strong urge to smack him at the back of his head, "And you said nothing because?"

Aramis merely shifted uncomfortably on the bed and looked everywhere beside Athos' face. Athos sighed, feeling much like a teacher scolding a misbehaving child. He wrapped Aramis' blankets tightly around his shoulders and felt his forehead with his palm. A fever was certainly present, but it was not alarmingly strong.

"Don't fall sleep just yet," Athos ordered, "I'll make you some herbal tea to get rid of you fever, then you need to rest."

Aramis suddenly smiled broadly up at him, completely innocent in his fevered state.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Athos asked, alarmed.

"Nothing," Aramis replied, his smile growing, "It's just…"

"Just what?" Athos asked when Aramis did not continue.

"That's exactly what Porthos would have done." Aramis answered, looking far too pleased with himself for making such an observation.

"Well," Athos said as he began to ready a small pot with water, "My tea is better than Porthos' anyway."

"Yes, it is." Aramis said, then slapped a hand over his mouth in shock, "Don't tell him I said that."

Athos grinned, "I won't."

He was going to.

While the tea was brewing, Athos helped Aramis into some fresh bed clothes which proved to be an extremely strenuous task.

"Lift your arms, Aramis." Athos ordered.

"But I'm cold, Athos." Aramis whined.

Athos rolled his eyes, "Yes, that is why I'm making you change into these," He waved the night shirt over Aramis' head, "It's thicker."

Aramis sighed and lifted his arms above his head, defeated.

Once the shirt was over his head, Aramis smiled at him again, "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Athos said, "Are you ready for your tea now?"

Aramis nodded and sneezed, his eyes going red and watery. Athos pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to his brother.

"Thank you, again." Aramis mumbled.

"You're welcome." Athos said, pouring some tea into a mug. He added some honey for sweetness and handed the steaming mug to his brother, who was looking more drowsy by the second.

"Try to finish it," Athos said, "Then you can sleep."

Aramis nodded and sipped the tea under Athos' watchful gaze. While Aramis drank, Athos pondered whether he should go find Porthos. He always knew just what Aramis needed and was most likely the best person to take care of him. Athos did not like the idea of leaving Aramis alone, however. The younger man had an uncanny ability to get himself into trouble and in his current state who knew what he could get up to, even for a short period of time.

"Aramis?" Athos asked.

"Hmm?" Aramis answered sleepily.

"You said Porthos would have made you tea?"

"Yes, why?"

"What else would he have done?"

Aramis seemed to concentrate for a while. Athos thought for a moment that perhape his brother had forgotten about his question but he looked up with a fond smile on his face.

"He would have talked to me." Aramis finally said.

"What about?"

Aramis shrugged, "Anything… whatever he wanted. It helped me feel better before. It normally helps me fall asleep."

"Is his conversation that boring that it helps you sleep?" Athos asked, smirking.

Aramis chuckled, "No, no… not like that."

His face suddenly grew serious, "He knows that it helps me to… to not get too lost in my own thoughts."

Athos nodded sadly, "Well what would you like to talk about?"

Aramis looked up at him then, and his mouth stretched into a fond smile, "You're doing very well, Athos."

"I don't understand." Athos answered, confused.

"You needn't worry about what Porthos would do," Aramis explained, "You're already very good at taking care of me, at taking care of the both of us. You're a good brother, Athos."

Athos felt warmth blossom in his chest and smiled a little shyly.

"Still," He said, "How can I help you feel better?"

Aramis shrugged, "The tea is already helping me quite a bit."

Athos leaned forward and placed a palm to Aramis' forehead once again, not convinced. The fever was still present and he could see the tired bags under Aramis' eyes becoming more prominent.

"Come," He said, "Time for you to get some rest."

He took the mug out of Aramis' hands and helped him climb under the blankets, throwing the ones Aramis brought with him on top of the bed too, for good measure. Aramis was watching him closely all the while and Athos couldn't help but wonder if he had done or said something wrong.

"Aramis?" He asked, "Is something the matter?"

He watched as Aramis bit his lip and looked at his hands, avoiding Athos' gaze for the second time that night.

"Athos, I can go back to my room." He eventually said.

Athos straightened, "Would you feel more comfortable there?"

Aramis looked up at him, seemingly confused, "No, it's just that I understand that you might not be completely comfortable with this sort of thing."

"What sort of thing?"

"Er... the bed sharing sort of thing."

A small smile tugged at Athos' lips, "You needn't worry yourself over that. I enjoy the company of my brothers. Besides, I know it might come as a shock to you and Porthos but I am capable of being a good host."

"Oh I don't doubt that," Aramis said, finally relaxing against the pillows, "But I know you like your privacy."

To prove his point Athos climbed in after him and blew the candle out. He listened to the sounds of the night, finding a strange comfort in Aramis' congested breaths and sniffles beside him.

"You will let me know if you feel worse?" Athos asked.

"Yes," Aramis replied sleepily.

"Aramis..." Athos said with a hint of a growl in his voice.

He heard Aramis sigh dramatically, "Athos, of the King's esteemed musketeers, I swear to you on my honor that if I feel worse I shall tell you immediately."

Athos chuckled, "No need for dramatics."

They laid in silence for a while. Athos could tell that Aramis was still awake by peeking at him from the corner of his eye. The moonlight danced on his brother's pale face and revealed half-awake eyes, staring at the ceiling above.

"Aramis?" Athos asked.

"Yes?"

"Out of curiosity, what would Porthos do now?"

A wicked little smile found its way on Aramis' face and before Athos could even defend himself, Aramis was lying on top of him, his head burrowed in his chest and an arm wrapped around his torso in a grip strong enough to hold a ship to a dock. Athos could not help the large smile that appeared on his face, nor the laugh that escaped him.

"He would hold me." Aramis said into his night shirt.

"Of course he would," Athos said, wrapping an arm around his too-warm brother.

This was of course how the fell asleep. And in the morning, much to Athos' distaste, this was how Porthos found them.

...

Aramis woke to something nice and cold wiping his face and let out a sigh of bliss.

"Aah," said a familiar voice, "The sleeping damsel awakens."

Before opening his eyes, Aramis smiled, "Porthos."

"The one and only."

He blinked against the morning light and found that he still had his head on Athos' chest while Porthos was wiping his face softly with a wet cloth.

"How are you feeling?" Athos' voice came from above him.

Aramis thought for a bit and found he could breathe freely through his nose, "A lot better."

"You still have a slight fever," Athos said, "But it has improved."

"Of course it has," Porthos said with a wink, "You've taken such good care of him."

"You have, Athos," Aramis said, "Thank you."

"You needn't thank me, Aramis." Athos replied.

Once Porthos was satisfied that he had cooled Aramis off enough, he tossed the cloth aside and looked at them seriously.

"Want to know how I knew Aramis would be hear?" Porthos asked.

"Do tell," Athos encouraged, clearly expecting some sort of sarcastic answer.

"It wasn't my instinct, nor my excellent intuition this time," Porthos said and Aramis was sure Athos rolled his eyes at that statement, "It was not even my knowledge of all things Aramis... It was quite simple really. There was, in fact, a trail of blankets leading from Aramis' room all the way to yours, Athos."

Aramis couldn't help the sudden laughter that escaped him and he felt Athos shake his head above him. He snuggled closer to his brother and Athos squeezed his shoulder in return.

"Porthos?" He heard Athos ask.

"Yes?" Porthos replied.

"Aramis says I make better tea than you do."

"What?"


	5. Chapter 5

Tag to "Through a Glass Darkly"

Prompt by Lady Neve on AO3: Aramis is running on adrenalin after falling from Marmian's window. He is so worried about Pothos' shoulder he does not notice the glass in his head and thigh.

…

Aramis pokes and prods at Porthos' shoulder through the leather of his uniform and hears Porthos' huff just above his head.

"Aramis, it's fine!" Porthos grumbles, trying to yank his shoulder away.

"It's not fine, it was dislocated!" Aramis shoots back, tightening his hold on Porthos' uniform.

"Yes," Porthos says, "But it was popped back in place by Rochefort."

Aramis shoots him the most scathing look he can muster and Porthos promptly stops talking, letting Aramis examine his shoulder to his heart's content.

"Does this hurt at all?" Aramis asks as he pushes on Porthos' shoulder.

"It's slightly tender, I've had far worse." Porthos answers with disinterest.

Aramis narrows his eyes, "That's no excuse to suffer in silence."

Porthos finally manages to tug free and looks at Aramis suspiciously, "Suffer in silence? Did you honestly think I didn't notice how much you cringed while we rode back here? You fell through a window, Aramis. It's me who should be checking you."

Aramis shakes his head. The ride back to the garrison had been an uncomfortable one at most, but he was distracted with wanting to check on Porthos' shoulder.

"I'm fine." Aramis said, "I'm just stiff from the fall but I'm perfectly alright."

Porthos studied his face, clearly looking for even the slightest hint of pain. To prove his point, he added, "Let's go get a drink? After today I could certainly do with one."

The scrutiny in Porthos' eyes fades to fondness and he nods his head in agreement, "Best idea I've heard all day."

…

As they make their way to their usual tavern, Aramis starts to feel the effects of the day's activities on his body more than he did before. With the reassurance that his brother's shoulder was fine, he could finally focus on his own body. As they walked, he rolled his shoulders and cringed at how tight his muscles felt. His head was a little sore and the muscle in his right thigh was stinging.

He sighed in relief as they made it through the door of the tavern. Sitting down with a good glass of wine in his hand was sure to make him feel better. Athos had retreated to his room and d'Artagnan was spending time with Constance. It was just him and Porthos for the night and Aramis smiled at the memories of mischief they always got up to when Athos was not there to keep them in check.

As they sat down, Porthos stretched an arm out and tugged something from Aramis' hair. It was a tiny shard of glass. He frowned and studied it before looking at Aramis.

"Are you hiding any more of these in those locks of yours?" Porthos asked.

Aramis smiled and shrugged, "Most likely, though I can't feel it."

Porthos looked at him thoughtfully for a moment then said, "Perhaps we should go back and try to get them out."

"Nah," Aramis replied, too exhausted to imagine walking back to the garrison now, "It will be fine, I'll shake them out before bed."

Porthos frowned, "If you're sure."

They sat in a comfortable silence for a while, both sipping their wine and watching the people around them. The pain in Aramis' thigh seemed to get worse but he forced himself to ignore it. He would take a look at himself when they decided to go back to the garrison, there was no need to fuss now.

Aramis looked across the table at his brother. Porthos had some creases between his brows, even though he seemed to be at ease in their environment. Aramis frowned, his brother was probably in pain.

"Is your shoulder bothering you?" He asked.

Porthos gave him an exhausted smile, "For the twentieth time, mon ami, I'm okay. It only tinges a bit, nothing I can't handle. Are you sure you are alright though?"

"I'm fine, Porthos," Aramis said, "My muscles are just a bit sore."

Porthos nodded slowly and took another sip from his wine. Aramis did not miss how the lines did not disappear from his brother's face.

"What is it?" Aramis asked, "Something's wrong."

Porthos looked at him with a crooked smile, "I watched my best friend get pushed out a window."

Realisation came to him as Porthos' words sunk in. Aramis grabbed his friend's arm and squeezed, "I'm so sorry, I did not even realise... I don't know what I would have done if it had been you."

Porthos looked down at the table, "I refused to believe you were anything but alright, even though I knew it was a far fall, I just couldn't accept anything other than you being alright. But when it happened... when I saw you go through the glass... I felt like the world had stopped. I wanted to kill that man for doing that to you, I swore to him I would, but he was dead before I got the chance. The sight of you going through the window though, will haunt me forever."

Aramis swallowed down the lump in his throat and gave Porthos' arm another hard squeeze. When Porthos looked up at him, he smiled, "Well I'm here now and I'm fine. We go together remember?"

Porthos smiled at him though it was not his brightest. The days events were clearly too fresh in his mind. He squeezed Aramis' hand on his arm gently then reached forward, plucking another small shard of glass from Aramis' hair.

"We really need to get that glass out your hair, Aramis. You can't go to sleep like this."

"I wasn't going to," Aramis said, smiling, "Let's have another cup of wine and then we'll go?"

He wasn't sure his legs could carry him just yet.

Porthos nodded in agreement, "Alright, one more cup, then we head back and I take that glass out your hair. You look like a glittering damsel with that glass catching the light like that."

"Oh that's not the glass," Aramis said, "That's just my good looks, it can be too much to handle some times."

Porthos rolled his eyes and Aramis heard him laugh properly for the first time that day.

The muscle in his thigh gave a sharp pinch of pain and his hand automatically reached down to grab it. He was surprised when his leg felt wet. He brought his palm back up, above the table, to examine it in the light and found it was covered in blood. Before he could even register what he was looking at, Porthos' hand shot out and grabbed his wrist to examine it.

"Aramis?" Porthos asked, "Where's that from?"

"I..." Aramis tried to answer, but was a little confused and his leg was throbbing.

"Answer me!" Porthos almost yelled and stood up to walk around the table.

"It's my thigh," Aramis explained, "I thought it was just the muscle but..."

Porthos grabbed the back of his chair and turned it so that his leg was in the candlelight of the tavern. Aramis flinched as he looked at his leg; there was a massive piece of glass sticking out of it. Porthos bent down to look closer. He gently moved Aramis' leg more into the light and Aramis suddenly became aware of how sore it was.

Porthos looked up and his face was etched with worry, "Did you know this was here?"

Aramis shook his head, "I thought I was just stiff."

"You didn't notice a large piece of glass sticking out your leg?" Porthos asked.

Before Aramis could answer, Porthos was removing his bandana and tying it around Aramis' thigh.

"I'll take it out at the garrison, where we can stitch it straight away." Porthos said, "Let's go."

Aramis did not miss the tiny hint of anger in his voice and cringed. He honestly should have checked himself properly after everything was over. He could understand his brother's anger, for he would have felt the same.

As he stood up, his leg wobbled and he gasped softly as the pain shot up his body. Porthos grabbed his arm and slung it over his shoulder and around his neck to support him. He wrapped his other arm around Aramis' ribs securely and Aramis was sure that not even a hurricane could blow him out of his brother's grasp.

This was how they hobbled out of the tavern and into the street. A cool breeze greeted them and Aramis groaned at the thought of walking back to the garrison. Porthos kept quiet as he helped him along and Aramis was sure his brother was angry with him.

"Porthos?" Aramis asked through a clenched jaw.

The only response he got was a grunt and Aramis knew then that his suspicions were correct.

"You're angry with me." He said, the pain in his voice difficult to hide.

"Not now." Porthos said and Aramis flinched.

They had been walking for about ten minutes when Aramis simply could not go another step. The exhaustion from the day had finally caught up to him and his leg was throbbing. Not to mention he had about a dozen other aches and pains throughout his body which he tried very hard not to think about too much.

"Porthos," Aramis said, out of breath, "Can we stop for five minutes? I can't carry on."

His voice was dripping with pain now and Porthos halted immediately and looked at him. The worry was plain on his face and Aramis squeezed his eyes shut, breathing through his nose. He felt Porthos grip the side of his neck and squeeze affectionately. With his eyes still closed from pain, Aramis couldn't help but give a tiny smile at the care Porthos gave him even through his obvious anger.

"You going to pass out on me?" Porthos asked.

"Not a chance," Aramis said and opened his eyes slowly, trying to blink his lightheadedness away, "If I do you'd have to carry me and that would hurt your shoulder."

"What makes you think I wouldn't leave you here?" Porthos asked, not removing his hand from Aramis' neck.

Aramis smirked, "You like me too much. Even if you hate me right now, you know you'd miss me."

Porthos sighed and looked at the stars above them, "I could never hate you, Aramis. I'm just angry that you never ever put yourself first. The fact that you did not even notice you were badly hurt says a lot." He looked back down at Aramis, "You care about yourself far too little, I wish you would care more. Knowing how little your own wellbeing means to you makes me worry that I could lose you because of something that could have been easily avoided if you just cared about yourself."

Aramis swallowed and was surprised to feel tears gather at the corners of his eyes at his brother's words. Porthos looked so sad and so worried, he had no idea what to say.

"I'm really sorry, Porthos." Aramis said, "I'm sorry I make you worry about me, and I'll try to be less carefree in future."

Porthos smiled sadly at him, "I would never ask nor expect you to change who you are, brother. I'll just have to check you myself every time something happens. I've always kept an eye on you, now I will keep both. Someone has to make sure you're alright, especially when you're so hell-bent on making sure everyone else is."

Aramis smiled and slid his arm back around Porthos' shoulders, "Let's get back before someone kidnaps us."

"Who would want to kidnap us?" Porthos asked as they started the rest of their unstable walk back to the garrison.

"The women of Paris are predators, Porthos. I thought you'd have realised that by now," Aramis said, too exhausted to even attempt to hide the pain in his voice, "But don't fret, I'll protect you from them."

"How much wine did you have?" Porthos asked, the smile evident in his voice.

Aramis laughed and shut his eyes again, hoping he would not worry his brother too much.

"We're almost there," Porthos said and tightened the grip he had around Aramis' ribs.

When they did eventually hobble into the garrison, Aramis groaned internally at the realisation that they still had to get up the stairs. Porthos seemed to have other plans, though, as he promptly bent down and lifted Aramis' legs from the ground, carrying him the rest of the way.

"Porthos!" Aramis exclaimed, "Your shoulder!"

"My shoulder is alright, as I've told you before plenty of times," He said, "Besides, you're as light as a lamb."

"A lamb?" Aramis asked, then cringed as Porthos climbed up the steps, the motion making his leg throb even more.

"Just a little more," Porthos said encouragingly.

Aramis clenched his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut, breathing through his nose fast again to try and lessen the pain. As he felt himself being lowered, he opened his eyes and realised they were already in Porthos' room and Porthos was lowering him onto his bed.

"You need to let go, mon ami." Porthos said.

"What?" Aramis asked.

"My uniform," Porthos said, "You need to let go so that I can go get the things I need to patch you up."

Aramis released his grip on Porthos' studded collar, not remembering when he had grabbed it. He watched Porthos gather the things he needed for a bit then gently started to untie his friend's bandana from his leg.

"How many of your bandana's have I ruined?" Aramis asked, biting his lip as he once again looked at the piece of glass sticking out his leg.

"As many hearts as you've broken," Porthos answered with a smirk as he came over to the bed, arms full of things Aramis was sure he didn't need.

Porthos handed him a leather belt, which Aramis promptly put in his mouth.

"Ready?" Porthos asked, his hand hovering over the glass in Aramis' leg.

Aramis nodded and as Porthos' fingers gripped the glass, he shut his eyes and held his breath. The pain was sharp and terrible; Aramis could not help the tight grip he had on Porthos' sheets. It felt like it lasted ages and Aramis was sure he'd started shaking.

He felt a palm cup his cheek and when he opened his eyes, Porthos was watching him with an apologetic expression on his face. He rubbed his thumb under Aramis' eye and said, "It's out."

Gently, Porthos tugged his belt from Aramis' mouth. Aramis looked at the rag that the glass was lying on and was relieved to find that the minority of it had actually been in his flesh.

"You're going to have to strip down to your linens," Porthos said as he readied the bandages and needle and thread.

Aramis' eyebrows shot up, "Are you always that direct with the people you take to bed?"

Porthos shot him a look in an attempt to say he was not amused but Aramis did not miss the slight rise of the corners of is mouth. His brother helped him out of his uniform and when Aramis was down to just his linen shorts, Porthos was clearly not impressed.

Aramis was covered in small cuts and bruises. They were mostly scattered across his arms and torso, save for the obvious one on his leg.

"We should have..." Porthos begun, worry lines reappearing on his tired face, "I should have checked you the minute we had a chance."

Aramis patted his arm kindly, "It's not as bad as it looks."

Porthos huffed in disagreement and Aramis grabbed the sheets again as he started to clean the cut with alcohol. Once he begun to stitch his leg, Aramis had to shut his eyes once more until it was all over. He then busied himself with cleaning the more shallow cuts on his arms and torso while Porthos bandaged his leg. Afterwards, Porthos cleaned the ones on his back, whose sting was nothing compared to the one from his leg. This of course didn't stop Porthos from apologising every time Aramis let out a hiss.

"Alright," Porthos said when they were done, "Let's get the glass out your hair."

Aramis leaned over a bucket as Porthos combed his hair, the sensation was rather pleasant and made him sleepy.

"There's some small cuts on your scalp," Porthos said, "But nothing we need to be worried about."

Porthos had been brushing his hair for about fifteen minutes when Aramis asked, "Is there a lot of glass? It feels like you've been at it for a while."

Porthos chuckled, "Oh I got all the glass out ages ago, it's just really obvious that you are enjoying this."

Aramis chuckled and swatted at his hand, straightening, "Can we go to sleep now?" he asked as a yawn escaped him.

Porthos' smile was genuine, "Yes, I think we both need it."

Aramis limped over to the bed and climbed under the blankets. Before he buried his face in the pillow, Porthos tossed a sleeping shirt to him and he put it on as his brother removed his own leathers. As soon as Porthos was under the blankets, he lifted his arm so that Aramis could rest his head on his chest, but Aramis shook his head and smiled.

"It's your turn," Aramis said and grabbed Porthos to rest his head on his own chest instead.

Porthos chuckled and Aramis ran his fingers through Porthos' curls.

"I'm going to squash you," Porthos said, voice muffled by Aramis' shirt.

"I'm unsquashable," Aramis said and Porthos chuckled again, finally relaxing.

Holding Porthos like this was warm and surprisingly comfortable. It felt nice to have his brother in his arms. He knew Porthos needed this, needed to be held and soothed after watching his friend go through a near fatal ordeal and being told he was dead when he was the only one who believed otherwise. If their roles were reversed, Aramis would have been in pieces.

"Porthos?" Aramis asked, checking to see if his brother was awake.

"Hmn?"

"I'm tougher than I look."

Porthos' hand came up to pat Aramis' belly, "I know," he said, "But you don't have to be tough all the time."

"Nor do you." Aramis said.

He gently massaged Porthos' injured shoulder until he could hear his brother's breathing even out. Eventually, blissful sleep claimed him.


	6. Chapter 6

... and the one time he really thought he was fine when he wasn't.

(Very slight spoilers for season 3 ahead)

Warnings for this one: It mentions and deals with racism. Basically the crux of this one is Aramis being half Spanish and the difficulties that presents post returning to the garrison.

...

If Aramis were honest with himself, he would have realised that he should have seen it coming. He had just got his friendship with Porthos back on track and the three inseparables were brothers again. Paris, however, had had a strange air to it since he returned. Besides the obvious issues, something about the way some people spoke to him and looked at him seemed off. It was only a small handful of occasions but eventually he had realised what was going on.

It started with the looks. A merchant in the street, a new recruit at the garrison and even a young girl at a market. The musketeers were normally stared at but the looks lingered just a little longer on him. It was odd at first and he had thought nothing about it. After that though, the comments started. A whisper or murmur behind his back, a pinched tone to the voices of some people he spoke to and even a flat out refusal to say anything at all or avoiding eye contact. He was frustrated with himself that it had taken a blatant comment thrown at him before the pieces finally fell into place.

"Spanish scum," and "Half breed spy," or his personal favorite, "Spanish dog."

That last one was the first time it had actually been noticed by his brothers. When it had happened, he was walking in the street market with them and Porthos had whipped around and yelled, "Who said that?"

Of course, there was no reply and the shoppers and merchants avoided eye contact with the seething musketeer. Aramis had simply patted Porthos on his arm and gave him a smile.

"It's alright, Porthos." Aramis said, "I understand their anger."

"That does not make it alright, Aramis," Porthos said as they walked back, "The war is difficult for both sides. You are here serving the French king, not the Spanish. You should be shown the respect you deserve."

Aramis sighed and shrugged, "They need to take their anger out on someone."

"And that someone is you?" Athos asked quietly.

Aramis shrugged again, not quite knowing what to say, "It's alright. It doesn't bother me."

"Are you sure?" Athos asked.

"Yes, I am," Aramis replied.

"Things like that hurt," Porthos said, visibly still angry, "Trust me I know."

Aramis felt instantly guilty and bit his lip, "I'm sorry I-"

"Don't apologise," Porthos cut him off, "I'm just saying I understand how it feels to be neither one thing nor the other. People don't take kindly to folk like us."

Aramis frowned and nodded, "The war has everyone riled up. They will grow tired of their insults eventually. Though, I dearly wish I could say the same for you."

Porthos smiled fondly at him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, "As long as I have you two idiots I'm a happy man."

They continued walking and Aramis pushed the insults to the back of his mind, enjoying the time he was spending with his brothers.

...

The insults behind his back never ceased and eventually, he became used to them. Whenever he would turn around though, the person who had shot the words out never stepped forward, so Aramis never really felt all that threatened. He kept telling himself it would pass. Besides, for the most part, the people of Paris still treated the musketeers with the utmost respect.

The small incident that took place at the garrison a few days later though, is what Aramis would later describe to himself as an alarm bell. Even after returning to the regiment, he had maintained his status in the musketeers and had therefore kept his ranking within them. And so, just like his two brothers, was in charge of training new recruits on a daily basis when there were no other duties to be performed.

Edgard, a young boy not much older than nineteen, was practicing with his musket outside. It was not a usual training session and Aramis assumed the young man just had some spare time. As Aramis watched him shoot, he noticed one or two mistakes that he was making and the lad was getting visibly frustrated with himself.

Aramis stood up and stepped beside him, "Take a breath before you shoot. Try to relax. If you're too tense, you cannot concentrate enough and you wont hit your target."

Edgard looked at him, startled. The young man's face twisted however, and he looked at Aramis from his boots up to his face.

"I don't take orders from Spanish spies." He spat.

Aramis was so shocked, he did not even say anything in response as the boy turned around to walk away.

It was not Edgard's lucky day however. For as he spun around, he walked straight into Athos, whose gaze would have melted steel in that moment. Aramis almost felt sorry for the young man. Almost.

"You have just insulted not only one of the best musketeers this garrison has ever seen, but your superior." Athos said to him, his face stern and controlled, though Aramis could see the anger in his eyes, "We do not tolerate such behaviour here. If we are to be a strong force, we must learn to trust each other and respect each other. You will hand in your resignation to me by tomorrow morning."

Startled, Aramis decided to intervene, "Athos, it's alright."

Athos turned his glare to him, "No, it's not."

"Resignation seems a little harsh, don't you think? We've all made mistakes."

Athos' features softened slightly and he looked back to the shaking boy in front of him, "You will be working in the stables for the next month and you will apologise to your fellow musketeer."

Edgard nodded and slowly turned to Aramis, "I'm sorry." He looked genuinely regretful and Aramis gave him a short nod.

"You are dismissed," Athos said.

He turned to watch Edgard walk past him and added, "Edgard?"

The young man turned around, eyes as big as saucers, clearly afraid Athos had changed his mind.

"One more thing," Athos said, loud enough for surrounding heads to turn, "The next time the best marksman in France gives you advice, I suggest you listen."

The boy blushed scarlet and nodded dramatically, turning around and marching away, his head hanging low.

Athos turned back to Aramis and his expression changed instantly from Aramis' captain to his brother, "I'm sorry you have to deal with this."

Aramis smiled at him, "It's alright, it will all blow over eventually."

Athos nodded but a frown formed on his face. Stepping closer to Aramis, he said, "Listen, I'm never too busy if you want to talk to me. If it's bothering you, I understand."

Aramis grabbed his shoulder and squeezed, "You needn't worry about me, brother. All is well. Now go along and scare some more new recruits."

Athos rolled his eyes and patted Aramis on the arm as he walked away.

...

The second 'alarm bell' occurred only a few days after that. Aramis was enjoying the company of Porthos at their favorite tavern. Looking back on the incident, both men would say that they had actually been minding their own business that time, for once. Aramis was telling Porthos stories about the children at the monastery and his brother's face would light up at each one. His booming, deep laugh had filled the tavern at the many misadventures he had had with the children. He was in the middle of another story when a very intoxicated man approached their table with as much determination as can be put in a stumble. He was mumbling words that Aramis could not make out and was holding an empty wine bottle in his hand.

Aramis' stomach dropped as the man raised his hand and yelled, "How many of our sons did you kill out there?"

His arm came down towards Aramis' face but it did not reach it's target. Porthos was up in a flash and had tackled the man back against the wall. He grabbed the wrist of the hand holding the bottle hard enough that the man was forced to let go and his other hand was grabbing the collar of the man's shirt.

"How stupid could you possibly be?" Porthos asked, enmity dripping from his voice as he pulled the man from the wall then shoved him roughly back again.

Aramis stood up and placed a gentle hand on Porthos' arm.

"Porthos," Aramis said, "leave it."

"Leave it?" Porthos asked, looking at him with clear frustration, "He was going to hit you with that bottle, Aramis."

Aramis sighed, acutely aware of the silence in the tavern, "Let's not make this worse than it has to be. Let him go, he's drunk."

Porthos didn't look convinced as he searched Aramis' eyes. What he was looking for, Aramis had no idea.

Aramis sighed and looked at the man who was staring at Porthos and wriggling in his grasp in panick, much like a mouse would do in the claws of a cat, or in this case, a tiger.

"You won't do it again, will you?" Aramis asked the frightened man.

The man shook his head vigorously, "No, no, no monsieurs, I swear."

Porthos growled, not loosening his grasp in the slightest, "Apologise to him, now."

"I'm sorry, so sorry monsieur, please don't arrest me." The man babbled.

Aramis patted Porthos' arm and the man let go, leaving the drunk man to slide to the floor. All eyes were on them as they walked out of the tavern and into the Parisian night.

They walked back in silence for the most part. Aramis eyed Porthos out of the corner of his eye. His brother was oozing tension and Aramis felt suddenly guilty for causing all this nonsense.

"Porthos, I-"

"If you apologise," Porthos cut him off, halting in his steps to turn to Aramis, "I will break your nose."

Aramis sighed and ran a hand through his hair, not knowing what to say. He watched as the tension seemed to drain from Porthos' shoulders and his brother wiped his face with a gloved hand.

"Aramis," Porthos said, "I'm so sorry this is happening to you."

Aramis looked up at the stars, "It will pass."

"That may be so," Porthos agreed, "But that fact does not make it any easier."

Aramis looked back at him, "It's fine, I have you and Athos."

Porthos smiled, "Yes," he said, "You do, but I can tell it's hurting you."

Aramis wasn't sure what he meant, he did not feel hurt. He did not ask his brother about it as they walked back to their home. He only hoped, as he curled up in his bed, that he had seen the worst of it.

He was wrong.

...

It was on a cool night, some weeks later, when Aramis was walking alone to one of their taverns. The incidents with Athos and Porthos were pushed back in his mind and he was enjoying the fresh air and the twinkling sky. He had finished his duties about half an hour earlier than them and so had volunteered to go get a table and have wine waiting for them on their arrival.

He took a deep breath through his nose and smiled, the last few days had been peaceful. There had been very few remarks thrown his way and, if he was honest, he was used to them by that time. It did not go unnoticed how reluctant his brothers were to leave him alone though, and it had taken a great deal of negotiations before they let him walk this way alone. At Athos' request, he had a loaded pistol secured to his belt and he was armed with his sword.

He was almost near his destination when he heard someone whistle a melody behind him. When he turned, he saw a figure silhouetted by the moonlight, walking casually towards him.

"Athos?" He asked with a smile, "What are you whistling? Have you and Porthos started drinking already?"

Before the figure confirmed whether it was or was not his friend, Aramis felt a hand slip over his mouth from behind him and yank him backwards. Shocked, Aramis elbowed the man and wriggled free after hearing a loud "oof" of surprise.

Aramis drew his pistol and pointed it at the man, who he recognised to be the one who was brandishing the wine bottle those few weeks ago. The man sneered at him and spat on the ground.

"You're going to pay, Spaniard." He said, "You're going to pay for what your friend did to me in that pub and you're going to pay for being a traitor on our land."

Aramis held his hand steady but he did not pull the trigger, not wanting to shoot someone over something that seemed so trivial. He was certain that shooting this man would only make everything worse. Before he could make a final decision however, someone (who he assumed to be the whistling man) knocked him on the head and he went down. He was grabbed and dragged to the side of the gravel road where there was another man waiting.

...

Athos and Porthos were enjoying the smell of blossoms in the night air. Spring had arrived a few days ago and their world was filled with colour again. They walked in a comfortable silence but with a determined pace, both wanting to be at Aramis' side as soon as possible.

As they neared the tavern, Porthos could hear some men laughing and shouting. In the distance, he could make out three figures on the side of the road and they seemed to be kicking something.

"What's going on there?" Porthos asked.

"No idea," Athos said, "But I can't imaging anything good."

They walked toward the men and in the dark could make out a curled up figure on the ground which they were kicking enthusiastically.

"Enough!" Athos' voice broke their laughter and they turned to face him. It was difficult to make out their faces in the dark though Porthos instantly recognised the man he had almost arrested a few weeks ago.

"You again?" Porthos asked, "You seem to have a knack for trouble."

"Leave us to our business, gents," One of the other men replied.

"Everything that goes on in this city is our business, we're musketeers," Athos snapped, "Now tell me, what has this man done to you?"

The men seemed to glance nervously to each other, from what Porthos could make out, and slowly started to back away.

After receiving no reply, Athos sighed and said, "Do you think three against one is fair?"

Without warning, the men bolted. They all ran in opposite directions, leaving their victim lying on the ground.

Porthos approached the person slowly and knelt down. It was very dark on that particular side of the road, as no moonlight had reached it. Porthos gently placed a hand on the man's arm who hissed in pain and curled into himself even tighter.

"It's alright, monsieur." Porthos said as he tried to keep the man calm, "We're going to get you some help."

The man seemed to turn his head slightly and relaxed under Porthos' touch.

"Porthos?" He asked.

...

Porthos felt instantly sick as realisation dawned on him and felt Athos immediately kneel next to him.

"Aramis?" He asked, completely at a loss to say anything else.

Aramis groaned and Porthos could feel Athos grab his arm.

He looked at his brother and found the same emotions on his face. White hot anger and sadness.

"Let's get him back to the garrison," Athos said, his usually sturdy voice shaking in rage.

They very carefully moved Aramis into he moonlight so as to get a better idea of how hurt he was and where.

Aramis had a large purple bruise on his left cheek bone and a split lip. The rest, they assumed was hiding under his uniform. It was with the utmost care that Porthos lifted his brother and tried to hold him securely without causing him anymore pain. Aramis groaned but did not say anything as they began to walk. Athos was walking beside them with his sword drawn, a promise of murder on his face should the men return.

"We shouldn't have let him walk alone," Porthos said, trying to keep a hold on his anger.

"Mmm fine." Aramis' voice emerged from his arms, "You should... you should see what the other's looked like, I came out on top."

"Now's not the time for humor, brother." Porthos said, although he was relieved his brother was not so hurt that he would not attempt to make them smile and he could not help the tiny lift of the corners of his mouth.

Once they made it to Athos' room (the largest and closest) Porthos laid Aramis on the bed as carefully as he could and Athos lit some candles so they could get a better look at the damage. Very carefully, they removed Aramis' uniform, pausing at every groan and grunt of pain to let their brother catch his breath. Aramis had developed multiple bruises all over his torso but thankfully his ribs had not broken. They gently applied salve to each one, working in silence.

"You're both very quiet." Aramis remarked, his voice laced with pain.

Porthos and Athos both looked up at him, then at each other.

"Sorry, mon ami." Porthos said, "I'm just so upset that this has happened."

Porthos watched as Aramis bit his lip and looked up at the ceiling.

"It could have been worse," Aramis said and Porthos heard Athos sigh opposite him.

Out of the corner of his eye, Porthos saw Athos get back to tending their brother's bruises but Porthos kept still, keeping his eyes on Aramis' face.

"It will pass," Aramis said, not removing his gaze from the ceiling.

Porthos put the salve down and moved closer to Aramis' head. He slid his hands under Aramis' arms and lifted, helping him sit up with much groans hisses of pain, and said, "I'm going to put some salve on your cheek."

Aramis nodded and closed his eyes as Porthos gently rubbed the salve in with his thumb.

"You keep saying that," Porthos eventually said.

"Keep saying what?" Aramis asked, not opening his eyes.

"That it will pass," came Athos' voice from where he had gone to make some tea by the fireplace.

"It will," Aramis replied with determination and Porthos was not fooled for a second. He knew Athos was not either.

"Yes," Porthos said, "it will. But that does not mean you have to continue to suffer."

"I'm not suffering." Aramis replied.

Porthos sighed, "It's alright, Aramis. You needn't hide your pain from us."

He got no reply and continued to concentrate on gently rubbing the salve into Aramis' cheekbone. He halted in his movements when his thumb collided with a tear.

...

At Porthos' words, Aramis felt confused. Was he in pain? He had spent all these weeks convincing himself that it was alright, that the comments and actions of those people had not bothered him and he had hid behind his mantra that everyone would eventually find something else to take their anger and frustrations out on. It was with great surprise, that Aramis realised he was, in fact, not alright and that the words and actions had been bothering him immensely. And after what had just happened, he realised that it was all just too much for him to ignore... it was all just too much.

He opened his eyes as he realised he had let a tear escape and Porthos had moved both of his hands to cup his face. Porthos' face was so full of sadness and understanding that Aramis suddenly felt very overwhelmed and his breath hitched, causing more tears to escape his eyes without his permission. Porthos held him as gently as he could without aggravating his bruised body. He climbed more comfortably onto the bed and cradled Aramis to him, squeezing his shoulders and kissing his forehead softly.

"I'm sorry." Aramis mumbled eventually.

"Sorry for what?" Porthos asked.

"I'm sorry that you've felt like this before, Porthos. I'm so sorry."

Pothos pulled him back to look at his face and gave a gentle, kind smile, "I have not felt this way for many years, because I knew I always had you two to go back to. And just like me, you have two brothers by your side, Aramis. You always will, I swear it."

Aramis smiled and buried his face back under Porthos' chin. Porthos continued to soothe him and eventually Athos, who seemed to have abandoned his tea, joined them. He sat on the bed beside Aramis and opened his arms.

"Come now," He said, "As captain I demand a turn."

Aramis chuckled and dove into his arms, momentarily forgetting that he was injured and hissing in pain.

"Easy," Athos whispered, "We've got you."

He patted Aramis' hair and rubbed his hands up and down the non-bruised areas of his back. They stayed that way for a while and Aramis would have fallen asleep were he not in pain.

"Athos," Aramis heard Porthos say from behind him, "You're going to burn the tea."

"It's impossible to burn tea, you dolt." Athos replied and Aramis melted into the familiarity of their bickering.

"I wouldn't put it past you to burn tea," Porthos said.

"Fine, I get the hint." Athos said and Aramis could hear the smile in his voice.

Aramis was gently transferred to Porthos' arms once again and Athos came back with three steaming mugs of herbal tea which helped soothe his pain.

"You're going to have to be with at least one of us for the next few months." Porthos said eventually.

Athos nodded, "I agree, it's too dangerous right now for you to be alone."

"Hmm, my own personal bodyguards, how fun." He said as sarcastically as possible.

Porthos' face turned into the picture of mischief, "Yes, that will be fun."


End file.
